The Calm After the Storm
by Kelcat
Summary: A winter's storm causes Loghain to contemplate his past and future.


Writtein for the People of Thedas Secret Santa gift exchange for sealcat. They'd asked for any fic with Loghain in it, so I took the opportunity to do a bit of character study. There are a few references to "The Stolen Throne," but I don't think there's anything really spoilery.

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><p>Loghain reclined in an overstuffed chair near the fire, staring out the window at the falling snow. A wineglass sat idly in his hand, the red liquid sloshing gently as he absently tipped it from side to side. Nights like these were his favorite: relaxing in warm luxury as a winter storm raged outside.<p>

It had been almost a month since the Archdemon had been defeated, and things were finally starting to calm down at the castle in Denerim. Alistair and Anora were settling into an uneasy alliance, and the wedding would be held in just a few months. His heart ached for his daughter; that she would have to be subjected to a marriage that she had only grudgingly agreed to. But he couldn't deny that a union between Maric's son and Loghain's daughter would unite Ferelden in a way that nothing else could.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Loghain found himself wondering why the Warden had spared him at the Landsmeet. Alistair had wanted his head, as did some of the noblemen that had sided with him. But Lyna had stayed her hand, conscripting him into the Wardens instead.

Why? What did she want from him? Certainly there was no love between them, no camaraderie. A bit of grudging respect on his part, yes, but he had no idea what she thought of him. Lyna kept her thoughts and feelings close to her, and from observing her these past few weeks he thought that that was a habit she'd picked up years ago. The Dalish were often like that, or so he'd heard.

From the time of the Landsmeet to the night before the final battle in Denerim, Lyna had barely spoken to the former teyrn—save for the necessary commands in battle. Then there had been a knock upon his door—clipped words about a ritual: a chance for the Wardens to survive the killing blow against the Archdemon.

Loghain had not bothered to press the girl for details, did not ask what the catch was—for there was most certainly a catch—he had simply agreed to her strange request and lain with the witch in what was most likely a ritual laced with ancient blood magic.

Some might say that the ends do not always justify the means, but Loghain was never one of them. You did your duty to your country, in whatever way was needed. It was a belief born from swearing his fealty to an exiled prince, and it was one that had only intensified with the passing of many years.

There was a great irony in the deed as well. Loghain well remembered the day, years ago, when Maric had visited with the Witch of the Wilds. The rightful king had never told his best friend what occurred during the hours that he and Flemeth were alone in the hut, but he could imagine. And now here Loghain was, bedding that woman's daughter. Life truly was circular.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of someone entering the room. He looked up to see Lyna approaching him. His breath caught as he watched her cross the room. She was dressed for sleep, and he reflected, not for the first time, that she truly was a beautiful creature. She moved with the grace of a halla, her form hidden by a long diaphanous gown. Her bare feet moved soundlessly over the rug.

She reminded him so much of Rowan that it was almost painful. Not her features necessarily, but her mannerisms. There was a quiet sadness within her, as well as a fierce determination. She was a woman who was determined to do what she wanted, what she thought was right—and damn anyone who got in her way.

Lyna took her seat in the chair next to him.

"Good evening, Warden," Loghain said softly.

Lyna nodded to him in silent greeting. She was indeed a woman of few words, and Loghain respected her for that. She chose her words with care, each thought precisely weighed before being voiced.

He took a sip of his wine and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was gazing through the window, seemingly fascinated with the flakes of falling snow. "I love the snow," her voice was calm and even. "When it falls, it turns the world silent—peaceful."

"Peace is an illusion," Loghain replied. "It never lasts."

She turned her sparkling green eyes on him. "Perhaps not. But sometimes it lasts for long enough." Her gaze returned to the window, and the scene outside.

She looked beautiful in the soft light of the crackling fire, with her long brown hair freed from her usual bun and hanging loose over her shoulders. He stifled a sudden urge to reach out and run his hand through it.

An eternity of silence seemed to pass while Loghain studied her. Finally he voiced the question that had been gnawing at him. "Why did you spare me?"

Lyna's expression was unreadable. "It has served us well, hasn't it?"

"Indeed, it has," he agreed. "But you claimed not to know about the fate of the Warden who defeats the Archdemon, not until Riordan told us about it. So that couldn't have been your reason."

Lyna was silent for several moments, seeming to consider her answer. "I could not take your life in front of your daughter," she finally replied. "I have known the pain of watching someone you love die before your eyes, I could not bestow that horror on anyone else—no matter how great your sins were."

She looked at him intently. "And perhaps I thought the pain of living with what you've done was a much greater punishment than a quick death. Perhaps someday you will regret your actions, though I'm not entirely sure if you're capable of such an emotion."

Loghain returned her gaze, his brow furrowed. "You think I do not know what regret is? There are many things I have done in my life that I regret." He sighed heavily. "I have always done what I thought was best for Ferelden—you may not believe that, but it is true. Death and sacrifice is a part of war, but it is up to those of us who lead to ensure those sacrifices were not in vain.

"I did what I thought was best for Ferelden," he repeated softly. "May the Maker forgive me for that."

Lyna's expression softened slightly. "I do not know if what you've done is unforgiveable. That is up to the Creators, or your Maker, to decide. But you may not be as beyond redemption as you think."

He turned her words over in his mind, wondering if she might be right. Wondering if redemption truly was what he sought. And if so, was it possible for him to attain it?

"Did you know Rendon Howe was selling elves into slavery?" Lyna asked suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. It seemed a strange question to ask out of nowhere, but he had a feeling that it had been preying on her mind for some time.

"No." Seeing her look of skepticism, he expounded on his answer. "I gave Rendon free rein to do as he wished. At the time, I thought that he shared my desire to defend and protect Ferelden. It wasn't until much later that I realized it was not his love of his country that drove him; it was his greed for power and wealth." He frowned slightly as he remembered the man whom he had considered to be a close friend, but had had the gall to steal his daughter away.

"But that doesn't mean I'm blameless," he continued. "It was I who gave him that much power after all, and it was I who turned a blind eye to his crimes."

He tried to read Lyna's expression, but it was impossible. He had no idea whether she believed he was telling the truth or not, but he found that it didn't much matter either way. The burdens were his to bear, as she had said. Whether he deserved to bear them or not was of little consequence.

"I suppose I should thank you," he said after a while.

Lyna actually smiled at him. "Thank me? Or curse me?"

He found himself returning her smile. "A bit of both, perhaps."

She nodded. "I felt the same myself, once." He was surprised by that statement, and hoped that she would elaborate, but she said nothing more on the subject.

With a small yawn, she unfolded herself and stood up. "It's late." She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, as if trying to read his mind. Finally she stepped close and reached out towards him. Her slender fingers cupped his chin, tilting his face up towards her. Her blue eyes were lidded as she smiled at him once again. "Redeem yourself, Loghain Mac Tir," she whispered softly. "Ferelden is not done with you yet."

"And what about you?" he asked. "Are you done with me?"

She paused, considering. "You've fulfilled your obligations to me, done what I asked of you. You're still a Grey Warden, though. Weisshaupt is who you'll be reporting to from now on."

Loghain looked at her questioningly. "Where are you going?"

"I have a different path," she replied. "Alistair is sending me to Vigil's Keep, to take up the mantle of Warden-Commander there." The light of the fire reflected upon Lyna's face, and Loghain could see how tired she looked. He could also see the tiny frown that creased her brow.

"You don't wish to go."

Lyna shrugged. "There are other things I think would be better uses of my time—helping my people settle onto their new land, for instance—but I have accepted that I am a Grey Warden above all things. If Amaranthine is where I'm needed, then that's where I'll go."

"You do your duty, no matter what," Loghain mused.

She smiled at him. "Exactly." Then she did something that would linger in his mind for years to come: she leaned down and feathered the lightest of kisses across his lips. "Goodnight, Loghain," she said softly. "Perhaps someday our paths will cross again."

She exited the room as quietly as she had entered, leaving a slight trail of earthen smells lingering in the air—pine and cedar, rosemary and earthroot.

He stayed there, alone, for awhile longer. His mind was blissfully clear of thoughts as he sat in his chair, drinking his wine and contemplating the snowy scene outside. A strange sense of well-being washed through him. Not peace, not exactly, merely a sense that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Eventually, he retired to his room, and for the first time in over a year, his sleep was unbroken by dreams.

Lyna was gone by morning, without a word of farewell to anyone. It would be many years before Loghain would see her again, but she remained a vivid figure in his mind. And sometimes—in the dark hours of the night—he could still feel her lips on his.


End file.
